


A Classic Predicament

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Collars, Community: 50kinkyways, Community: oz_wishing_well, Established Relationship, Gags, M/M, Predicament Bondage, Summer of Oz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'll push Toby until it all hurts, those good aches that he loves, banking the pleasure up again and again, prodding Toby along as he bends and writhes, right in front of Chris. He's never once been bored by watching Toby contort his body, seeking just the right way to stand.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Classic Predicament

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started this as a fill for Porn Battle 2010 (!) – prompts: heart, gift, pain.  
> Written for [Oz Porn Tuesday](http://trillingstar.livejournal.com/182013.html) @ [Summer of Oz](http://oz-wishing-well.livejournal.com/57225.html) '15 & for prompt #6: restraints on [50kinkyways](http://50kinkyways.livejournal.com/).  
> Thank you to Dustandroses for her relentless cheerleading. Muahs!  
> 

Chris strips off his jacket and shirt, and admires Toby's latest predicament.

It's a classic one, though it always turns out to be one of Toby's best looks. That's his boy. Elegant.

Toby's legs are spread, bent a little at the knees. Lightweight chains attached to his ankle cuffs prevent his stance from being anything but open. 

Crouching down, Chris double-checks the tautness of the cord connecting Toby's balls to the weighted ring on the floor. Just to be an asshole, he flicks at it, making it vibrate, and from above, Toby groans. With this get-up, if Toby stands straight, the pull on his nuts will soon become... uncomfortable. Chris smirks. Toby's arms are pulled behind him, laced loosely, hands clasped together, and the rope's tied in a knot that'll tighten as Toby struggles to find his footing. It's designed to keep him off-balance, unable to interfere with how he'll be forced to move. 

Beyond the rope bondage, Toby's been blindfolded, and he's completely reliant on Chris to guide and position him. Ghosting a finger over the buckle on one cuff, Chris touches the back of Toby's hand, giving Toby the reassurance he needs to clear his mind. Chris brushes his thumb over the leather strip across Toby's mouth, then slides a finger under the side strap of the gag that's snug against Toby's cheek.

Toby lets out another soft groan, and Chris can see his tongue working around the latex dick in his mouth. He'd been feeling generous – Toby still gets shy when all of his noises and yelling are left unrestrained. Unacceptable. Also, he drops a lot faster when he can suckle on something. Chris stands close, knowing that Toby feels him, can smell him, and he's caught up for a long moment staring at Toby's collar, an unassuming, thin strip of dark, polished leather that Toby buckles into place the moment he steps through the door of their house. Sometimes Chris watches when he has to take it off: Toby kisses it before curling it up and setting it into a bowl on the table next to the coat rack. It's a little freaky how Toby shrugs on his outside persona as easily as putting on his coat, the asshole lawyer who charges hundreds of dollars an hour, the man who micro-manages every part of his life except at home. 

They'll share a kiss goodbye, Toby pushing Chris up against the door and holding tight, ravaging his mouth. He'll look down, smirk at the sight of Chris's erection, and then leave, briefcase in one hand. Doesn't matter. He's still Chris's, every inch. The collar's symbolic; the ownership is not.

Chris fingers the hem of his wifebeater, then decides to leave it on. The cotton is soft against his nipples and he smiles, moves to put the last piece of Toby's bondage in place. A long cord hangs from a loop drilled into the ceiling, measured specifically for Chris's purposes. It splits about three-quarters of the way down, with each end capped off with a nipple clamp. Dulled alligator teeth make them bearable for a longer period of time, especially when combined with the endorphins Toby's practically bathing in by the time Chris has Toby bundled up in bed, cuddling him close, and telling him how very, very good he's been.

Now, though – now Chris teases Toby, stroking his skin, pinching, laying kisses up one arm. Toby's arching a little already, testing the ties on his balls, enjoying the pull before everything starts to overwhelm. And it will, because Chris is in charge, and he wants a show from his favorite performer. He'll push Toby until it all hurts, those good aches that he loves, banking the pleasure up again and again, prodding Toby along as he bends and writhes, right in front of Chris. He's never once been bored by watching Toby contort his body, seeking just the right way to stand. 

Toby sways forward, puffing out short, hard breaths when Chris steps up from behind, letting Toby lean against him. He scratches at Toby's stomach, then grinds the heel of his hand against Toby's shoulder, moving across his chest and circling his nipples. Toby takes it, doesn't move away, just presses back and Chris kisses the side of Toby's head, nips at the back of his neck. "Pretty."

Toby's answering grunt probably translates to something like, "Fucker," which isn't quite true, not yet.

He slaps at Toby's nipple, the movement awkward, but he still manages to strike it sharply, waiting until Toby settles before tugging at a nipple and clipping on a clamp. Grabbing for the other nipple, he twists it until Toby whimpers, and then twists it again, harder. Once the clips are secured, Chris circles around Toby again, doing a final scan of all his handiwork. There's enough give in the line that Toby could form the impression that it's possible to find a stance where nothing hurts too much, but it's a gilded lie – if Toby's standing up, his balls are aching; if he's bending down, his nipples are on fire.

Slumping into a chair, Chris spreads his legs and palms his cock through his jeans. His cock's been hard since he first slipped the blindfold over Toby's eyes. It's the anticipation, the whole build-up of touches and kisses and tying knots, all of it a lead-in to one of their shared rituals, where Chris worships Toby, who gets off on being watched. Chris likes making Toby suffer for him; Toby only lets Chris give him pain strong enough to wallow in.

Toby's cheeks hollow briefly, and Chris's dick throbs. 

He has a perfect view of his boy, mere feet away from the spectacle. Chris has seen other people truss up their treasures and then turn away, or pretend they're not interesting. Not Chris. Not with Toby. Toby always has Chris's full attention and he knows it.

As if Chris would ever pass up the chance to watch Toby like this. Fuck, he's gorgeous, stretching and twisting to find a position he can stay in for more than a couple of minutes. Soon he'll only be able to stand it for forty-five seconds, then thirty. Ten. Two. Chris rubs his dick harder. He watches as Toby goes up on the toes of one foot, shoulders turned, and the clamp on his left nipple obviously hurts more than the other. He's trying to shrug, trying to move his arms. Not that it'll work. But he's trying. 

Chris smiles. Another part of their ritual, this cycle, every time; Toby pushing himself, testing his own limitations as he tries to figure out how to best use the space that he's got. What really blows Chris's hair back is that whichever position Toby chooses, it's his choice. The thought always evokes a hot flare in Chris's belly, some long-burning combination of love and want. 

Given the choices, and no matter how he chooses, Toby cannot stay still without truly hurting himself, eventually. Chris watches carefully while Toby's straining to hold out as long as he can in one position, then switching them out, attempting for a fluidity of movement that'll soon be outside of his reach. Toby's thigh muscles tremble; fresh sweat breaks across his chest. His chin dips down for a few seconds, followed by a new quivering in his calves. He stands, too quickly, and has to duck down again, bending at the knees to escape the tug and pull on his balls. And he's making these frustrated little whimpers around the dick in his mouth, and Chris wishes for a moment that his mouth was free for kissing. 

"You look good like that," Chris says, because Toby wants to know that he's being admired.

Chris's words make him preen, angling his body, tilting his head back to show his throat.

"Making me hard," Chris says. "Love to look at you." 

Sometimes they do this without the gag, and Chris asks Toby probing questions. What does this feel like, and how about this, and this? They've spent endless hours on Toby's nipples alone, tweaking and squeezing and pulling at them, making Toby arch up again and again, hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, mouth hanging open, and a heavy look of contentment in his eyes. So now Chris knows what Toby would say about the claw teeth of the clamp biting on the fleshiest part of his nipple, how the intense lick of heat makes him want to pant with lust. How it feels so fucking good that he can barely put the feeling into words other than horny, desperate. Needy.

Toby sinks into a half-lunge, torso stretched, head tilted to the side, and he's panting now, nostrils flaring with hard whuffs of air. Showing the consequences of his dilemma, Toby's skin is flushed, slick with sweat, and he's moaning into his gag, jaw working on the latex dick filling up his mouth. His cock's mostly hard, smacking against his stomach when he arches, sticking out as he bends, squatting down. There's nothing binding it, no cock ring or sheath. He's not even wearing a plug, and probably doesn't even realize that he's showing how much he misses having something inside with every jut and wag of his ass. Certainly it hasn't escaped Chris's notice that Toby's cock swelled after each choice he made to hunch over or to stand. 

Chris sits up far enough to wriggle out of his jeans, stroking his dick a few times and thumbing at his balls. He pushes up his shirt to get at one nipple, a brush of a caress until it stiffens under his fingers.

Toby's writhing now in choppy, uncontrolled movement, changing from one position to the next nearly immediately, and Chris sucks in a sharp breath when Toby goes down too far and the clamps chew at his nipples, making him grunt hoarsely, body wracked with shivers. Chris knows it's a barrage of sensation from Toby's brain to his toes because he's heard it described in Toby's own words, and the best part is Toby's favorite part: knowing that Chris is watching; that he's getting off on watching Toby like this; that they both love it when Toby struggles so much that he breaks and shatters, spiraling down; how Chris lets Toby fall so far, and that Toby only falls for Chris.

After glancing up at the clock, Chris rubs at the head of his cock a little longer, slicking lube down the length, and then rises on silent feet. He waits until Toby's standing tall, shuddering through a wave of pain, lips pulled into a grimace, before unhooking the cord on the floor and detaching the weight. Toby reacts immediately, making a noise like he's been punched, the relief helps him regain his footing, hips moving, his cock a tantalizing few inches from Chris's face. Chris ignores it, and instead wraps his fingers around Toby's calf, moving his hand down as a suggestion. Toby moans, a long, raspy sound, and Chris looks up to see Toby's nipples drawn up and out from his chest, pulled hard enough that Toby's neck lolls back.

Standing, Chris plucks off one clip quickly, reveling in the way that Toby's whole body jerks as he arches, his cock blurting out pre-come that drips to the floor. 

"Gorgeous," Chris says, watching the clamp bounce harmlessly against Toby's chest. "Next one, ready?" 

It's a good thing that Chris is standing right there, because Toby convulses as the other clip's removed. Chris takes the impact, steadying Toby, then wraps his arms around Toby's torso, bending him at the waist even as he's pushing Toby down onto his shoulders and knees. They fold down onto the ground, Chris draped over Toby's back, keeping his arms pinned between them. Grabbing at Toby's ass, Chris spreads him open, guiding his cock inside in a couple of hard thrusts. He fucks Toby with his hips snapping, setting a fast pace that'll get them both off within minutes. Toby's moaning and squirming beneath him, his face pressed to the carpet. Chris pushes down on his back a little harder, twisting them down until Toby's tender nipples drag against the carpet with every thrust. Toby's noises turn darker, deeper, and Chris slaps at the sides of Toby's thighs, grinding inside of him, relentless, until Toby's body spasms, until he writhes and tries to fuck himself on Chris's cock, frantic for more, desperate to come. 

Leaning back, Chris pulls open the knot around Toby's wrists, letting the ropes fall away. Toby makes a noise like a cough, mewling, and then rolls side to side, just far enough to get his arms underneath. He levers himself up enough to push back, and Chris reaches around, slides his hand over Toby's cock and grits out, "There you go, yeah, fuckin' come on, do it."

The world around Chris whites out when he comes, his eyes squeezed shut so tightly they hurt, and there are spots dancing in his vision when he looks down at the limp form of his boy, fucked out and still panting. 

Chris pulls out slowly, shuffling backward until he can uncuff Toby's ankles, moving each of Toby's legs until they're straightened before helping Toby roll over. He unwinds the cord from Toby's balls, and touches Toby's wet, softening cock gently, pressing down right under the head to get one last spurt of jizz. Toby groans, wrung out, and Chris unbuckles the harness holding the gag in place, pulling it out slowly, wincing as Toby's jaw clicks. Chris strips out of his shirt and uses it to wipe off Toby's face.

"S'okay," Toby slurs out, and Chris cups his chin, kisses him gently. Toby's breath is a steady warmth against Chris's cheek and he's the one who turns the kiss into something deeper, with Toby's tongue licking into his mouth. They kiss for long moments, Chris's hands running over Toby's arms and chest, down his flank and back up to skim over his swollen nipples.

Toby lies still as Chris unsnaps the blindfold, pushing it off, and beneath it Toby's expression is dreamy, his eyes half-closed and glazed. He may have been tormented until he gave up and let go, but Chris will always be there to catch him, and hold him close, and love him. 

Finally, Toby focuses on Chris, and there's instant joy reflected in his gaze. Chris makes sure that his expression shows exactly what he's feeling, too – pride, and lust, and love. So much love.

Toby smiles.  



End file.
